Can't
by sartiebodyshots
Summary: The aftermath of the cut bodyshot in Blame it on the Alcohol: a sexuality crisis, hangovers, and tears. The fic ends part way through Sexy.


The last person he wants to see rolling down the hall is Artie Abrams. Absolute last. That's even if you ignore the technicality that Artie is the only person who rolls. Exhausted and hung over Sam does not want to see Artie and does not want to deal with the inevitable fall out from last night.

It's all well and fine for Santana to lay Brittany out and do a nice bodyshot. Everyone knows they're fucking anyway. Even Artie, but Sam knows that he's pretending he doesn't see what's going on. He doesn't want to.

On the other hand, Sam and Artie are not fucking. They have never fucked, but last night when Artie looked on at Santana and Brittany with a laugh that didn't come near his eyes, Sam did what any good friend would do. He scooped Artie up and set him on the ground. To his pleasure, Artie had grinned and nodded when Sam held up the bodyshot supplies. They fumbled with his shirt, those glorious abs were exposed, and suddenly Sam was licking his way across Artie's body, the fingers in his hair encouraging him to make sure he got every grain of salt. So Sam did, licking longer than was probably appropriate (assuming there was some standard for such things) before reluctantly finishing the bodyshot. Artie's laugh definitely reached his eyes after that.

Sam thought that was the end of it. What's a little licking between friends? And since Artie is Sam's best friend is makes sense that there would be more licking than between not-best-friends. But then he woke up from a dream where the licking didn't stop and Artie's shirt wasn't the only piece of clothing tossed aside, and Sam's body was definitely liking that idea. Sam, however, was not liking that whole idea so he willed it away, turned around, and went back to sleep.

The second time his dream was totally different. Well, not _totally_, since Artie was still there, but everyone was fully clothed. Everyone in this case being Sam, Artie, and the other people sitting around them in the Lima Bean (or some other generic coffee shop, but whatever at this point). Sam was holding Artie's hand and his other hand was brushing hair out of Artie's eyes and Sam's eyes were watching Artie's smiling lips so they both leaned forward. Suddenly the table was gone and the chair he was sitting in was gone, but that was okay because he was sitting on Artie in Artie's chair and Artie's hands were cupping his cheeks and everything was Artie Artie Artie and they kissed and it felt so good that when Sam woke up this time he felt warm inside.

And yeah, so the boy who had set off this sudden sexuality crisis is rolling right towards him. Some irrational part of Sam's mind is telling him to run before Artie saw the… whatever it was… written across his face or something. But Sam holds his ground. The whole throbbing head from being insanely hung over made running a completely undesirable prospect anyway. Plus running away from your best friend isn't the most subtle thing in the world.

"You're looking a little worse for wear, my dear Evans. Too much drank last night?" Artie says with a chuckle.

"Speak quieter, do you mind? A little hungover here," Sam says, the pounding getting worse.

"Oh the innocence of the uninitiated," Artie says.

"And why aren't you in pain? You drank way more than I did," Sam says.

"Tolerance. Drink as much as I do, and eventually you'll be able to drink everyone else under the table," Artie says.

Part of Sam realizes that this is a concerning thing, but with the throbbing in his head he's feeling more envious than anything else.

They split for their classes, and that's all the time they spend alone for the rest of the day and for the next couple days. But Sam catches Artie staring at him more than once that week, and eventually he decides to stare right back.

And then he lets that he wants to be _that close _to Artie and Sam has had enough. He has to _know. _ What exactly it is he has to know, he doesn't even know, but he knows he has to know it or else he might explode.

He corners Artie after glee club. When everyone else is gone, Sam shuts the door. Artie rolls up to him.

"Excuse me, Sam. I'd like to leave," Artie says tersely.

"I just want to talk to you, Artie," Sam says.

"Come on. I don't have time for this. I have to… um… get maintenance done," Artie lies.

Sam rolls his eyes. Lying isn't exactly Artie's forte.

"Please?" Sam asks.

"Don't make me do this, Sam. We can't do this," Artie says.

Sam kneels down so he's looking straight into Artie's eyes. Artie is shaking his head and his eyes are so conflicted and so hurt that all Sam wants to do is pull him in close so he can make it better somehow.

"Yes we can," Sam says.

"I can't without either hurting you or cheating on Brittany and I can't do either of those," Artie says.

"But I just thought… that maybe we could…" Sam trails off.

"You thought what? That I would cheat? And hurt Brittany the same way that Tina hurt me? Or that suddenly all the pieces would be in place? I wish that that was how it worked; I really do, Sam, but it isn't," Artie says, voice cracking.

Part of Sam wonders if it really counts as cheating. After all, Brittany is already cheating on Artie. Maybe two wrongs don't make a right, but it makes the second wrong a little less wrong, right?

"Artie, you do know that Britt-,"

"Stop," Artie interrupts. He heaves a wavering sigh. "Just… don't finish that."

Of course Artie said no. If he had said yes, he wouldn't be the boy that Sam likes. And Sam doesn't want to hurt Artie any more than Artie wants to hurt him.

"I'm sorry… I won't… I guess I should just go…" Sam says.

"Yeah, I guess you should," Artie says quietly.

Sam moves slowly towards the door.

"Sam…" Artie says quietly.

He turns, of course, and sees Artie slumped in his chair with his eyes screwed shut. His chest is heaving and his hands are clenched tight around the wheels of his chair. As his breathing slows, he sits up straight. Artie's eyes open slowly and a small smile slides its way into place.

With his eyes staring unseeingly a little above Sam's shoulder, Artie says, "I wish we could be that close, too," and gives a little nod.

The moment snaps and Artie crumples back into himself with a quiet sob.

"If you could close the door when you leave," Artie says.

Sam turns away and doesn't turn back as he hears Artie shift behind him. As he closes the door, he sees that Artie has sat himself on the ground and has begun to curl into a ball. He knows that Artie wouldn't want him to see him like that, so he closes the door quickly.

The door is hard against his back as he slides down into a pile on the floor. Sam buries his head in his hands and pretends that he can't hear the noises through the door behind him or feel the wetness on his own cheeks.


End file.
